“Her visit disturbed Drustan greatly,” Deord was saying. “His moods are volatile. It distressed him. I don’t want him upset again. You can’t talk to him. I gave the lady what information I could, the second time.”
“Second time,” echoed Faolan. “When was this?”
“A while back, not long after she met him. She threatened to expose our secret if I didn’t give her the full story. She was shocked that
Alpin would condemn his brother to a lifelong incarceration. Women have soft hearts. They don’t understand such matters.”
“Ana threatened you? That can’t be true.”
Deord was gathering up the chain and shackles; he appeared ready to depart forthwith. “Nonetheless,” he said, “that is what she did, and I believed the threat real, or I would not have given her what she wanted. I do not know the
lady as you do. Drustan told me she slept in your arms on the journey from Breaking Ford. Perhaps her threat was no more than a bluff.”
“Drustan told you … ?”
“Your secret is safe with us,” Deord said grimly. “Drustan sees what others cannot. You did what you needed to do; the nights are chill here in the north. We both have dangerous secrets, you and I, and now we are privy to each other’s.
The codes of Breakstone bind us to mutual aid, but I won’t pass you information if it’s going to put Drustan at risk. I ask you to go now. Your own survival depends on it. So does mine, and his. If you get the opportunity, ask the lady to keep away. He dreams of her. That cannot help him.”
“How could he know—?”
“Go,” said Deord, his features suddenly forbidding. “Go now, Gael. Your presence
here imperils all of us.”
That eldritch sense again, of eyes around the clearing, watching, waiting, tense with anticipation. Faolan realized he was holding his breath. He opened his mouth to speak, then flinched as, with a susurration of graceful wings, a sudden powerful dive, all beak and scythe-sharp talons, the hawk swooped down a handspan before his face. Faolan put up his hands involuntarily,
shut his eyes and took a step back. The horse whinnied shrilly. When Faolan opened his eyes again there was a second man standing beside Deord. The hoodie and the crossbill sat unperturbed on their branch. The tiny wren he had seen before now darted up to settle in the wild auburn locks of the newcomer. Of the hawk there was no sign at all. Faolan sucked in a shaky breath, unsure if what had
just occurred was a freak of his imagination, a piece of clever trickery, or something he had never believed possible: a manifestation of real magic. He was without words.
“Sit awhile, Drustan,” Deord said calmly. “Get your breath back. As you see, we have a visitor. He’s no threat to us. In fact, he was just leaving.” Then, turning to Faolan as the red-haired man subsided onto a fallen branch,
long legs stretched out in front of him, “Best if you go. He’ll be weakened and confused awhile. He won’t be able to talk to you. This takes a lot out of him. As soon as he’s recovered we must go back. I ask you once more to leave. As a Breakstone man, you must understand how precious these times of liberty are for us, and what it would mean to lose them.” Deord bent to lay a hand on Drustan’s
shoulder, to murmur reassuring words. The red-haired man was shivering, a fast, febrile vibration that coursed right through his body, but his eyes, when he raised his head and turned to look at Faolan, were piercingly bright and full of an intelligence that was almost frightening.
Faolan could not summon a single word. His mind was doing its best to explain what had occurred here, to put the
pieces together in a way that allowed this to fit into his own model of the world. Memories came to him: Bridei’s charm of concealment, a spell summoned to get the two of them out of a fortress unseen late at night; a chill visit to a place known as the Dark Mirror, and the very odd emergence of a small dog from deep water. This was not, in fact, his first encounter with forces beyond the readily
explicable. But this went far beyond those lesser manifestations. Frenzy, crazy spells, fits of madness: those, he could understand. But a bird that became a man? That was the stuff of fanciful tales, ancient ballads of wonder and sorcery. He knew his share of those; in the lore of his birthplace there were accounts of princesses turned into swans, of a fair lady who was bewitched into a fly, of
creatures that were part one thing, part another entirely. But this, this here, now, right before his eyes … One revelation was quite plain to him: whatever this was, it was not madness.
“I’ll wait,” he said, and crouched down beside the red-haired man. Drustan was making an effort to get his breathing under control and to work off cramps, stretching his limbs, moving his fingers, rolling his
shoulders cautiously. Faolan had a momentary stab of sheer envy: what man has not dreamed of flight?
“You are her companion of the journey,” Drustan said. His voice was soft but compelling; it sounded to be under perfect control, though he continued working on his body, flexing arms and legs, easing his neck as a man does after vigorous exercise. “Her protector of the little campfires in the
night. Part musician, part spy, part killer. You guarded her well.”
“Drustan”—Deord’s voice held a warning note—“we must make haste. Faolan here has left your brother’s hunting party by stealth and must return to it before he draws undue notice. You and I must be within the walls before anyone comes looking.”
Drustan glanced at him, then turned his head toward the two birds perched nearby. “Go,”
he said, and in an instant both had arisen to fly off into the shadowy reaches of Briar Wood. He looked at Faolan. “They will bring warnings, if warnings are required,” he said. “My smallest one here”—motioning to the wren which still nestled in his hair—“will go with you. You took a risk.”
“As do you and your keeper,” Faolan said, wondering how it was that anyone could believe this gently spoken,
courteous man crazy. “The word goes that Alpin decreed you were never to be let out. That you are chained night and day.”
“When he sees me, I am chained. When he sees me, I am within those walls he set around me. What do you want from me, Faolan?”
“You already know my name. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by that. You seem to have seen a great deal more than should be possible. What are you,
some kind of mage?”
Drustan smiled; his face became a thing of rare beauty, transformed by a light that was almost otherworldly. Faolan was not in the habit of weighing people or objects by standards of loveliness, with perhaps one single exception. He generally judged his experiences solely by their position on the scale of risks and opportunities for whatever mission was his current responsibility.
He had once valued beauty; at a certain point in his life, it had ceased to have any meaning. For all that, this man’s features were compelling; they caused one, for a little, to forget to draw breath.
“I am no mage. I possess certain abilities; I see through more sets of eyes than my own. I journey, in a fashion, even when confined within prison walls. When Deord allows it I snatch my times
of flight; I enter the other place only on those occasions. To change my form within the tight barriers of the enclosure my brother made for me could be disastrous. We agreed, Deord and myself, that we would avoid such a risk. These transformations are fraught with danger. If Deord were less compassionate he would not allow them. Then I would indeed run mad, for they are as much part of me as mind
or heart. I would ask you a favor, Faolan.”
“A favor?” Faolan could not imagine what that might be; he was still struggling to reconcile the fact that his own existence and that of this bright-eyed, soft-spoken being, part man, part creature, could stand side by side in the same world. “Please do so. I, in my turn, have some questions for you.”
“If I can, I will help.” Drustan rose to his feet,
swaying a little. He was head and shoulders taller than Faolan; indeed, he had a look of his brother, who was a very big man. But everything that was coarse and rough and thick in Alpin’s appearance seemed subtly different in his brother’s: Drustan’s eyes were larger, clearer, his nose narrower, his mouth more finely drawn. His exuberant mane of hair, tawny red where Alpin’s was a dull brown,
seemed to capture the sunlight, shining with life as it fell across his broad shoulders. Although tall, he was not a bulky man like Alpin, but well proportioned and athletic in build. Those muscles were impressive; Faolan wondered how a man who had been imprisoned seven years had managed to develop them.
“What do you wish to ask?” Drustan went on. “We should be quick; Deord’s warnings were well
considered.”
Deord had gone quiet now, ceasing his protests. The balance of power had changed here with Drustan’s first words; there was no doubt in Faolan’s mind that it was the red-haired man, now, who controlled the situation. That gave him pause.
“You wish to ask me about my brother?”
The fellow was a little too astute for comfort. In fact, there was another question that was crowding
out the others. “I saw what just happened; the way you changed. If you can do that at will, man to bird, bird to man, what on earth possesses you to stay here? Why don’t you just fly away beyond your brother’s reach? Nobody could possibly track you.”
Drustan’s expression changed; his features seemed to close in on themselves. “I cannot,” he said. “The thing I did was done when I was in that other
form. Sometimes I do not recall those times clearly when I return; sometimes, when I am in the other place, I have only hazy memories of my human state. To risk a repetition of such an ill deed would be irresponsible. I cannot go free. Not beyond the brief times Deord allows me.”
“You possess sufficient awareness to return to Deord, and to do so promptly, if I understand right. Perhaps you underestimate
yourself.”
“I have developed better control, that is true,” said Drustan. “But I will not risk the safety of the innocent for the sake of my own freedom. I killed once and returned with no memory of it. What man can say with authority that it could not happen again? Besides, I am not a wild creature, I am a man who possesses a certain—difference. I cannot live my whole life in that other form.”
“I see,” said Faolan, torn between admiration for Drustan’s strength of will and astonishment that he could have made such a choice.
“That was not the question you wished to ask,” said Drustan.
“About Alpin,” Faolan said. “He agreed to a treaty. You know of the situation between Fortriu and Dalriada? You would have been captive at the time Bridei won the kingship—”
Drustan nodded gravely. “I
know how matters stand. My own territory of Dreaming Glen, in the west, is strategically located in relation to the Gaelic holdings. That makes my brother a popular man. Both Dalriada and Fortriu have cause to woo him; to offer him incentives.”
“Indeed,” Faolan agreed, relieved that his instincts had been sound; this man did indeed possess an awareness of what he had lost when his brother declared
him mad and shut him away. “A rare incentive this time: a young woman who carries the royal blood of the Priteni, meaning Alpin’s son could one day become king of Fortriu. Your brother has agreed to a treaty in return for this bride. An undertaking not to attack Bridei from either of the two territories, Briar Wood or Dreaming Glen, and in addition not to ally himself with Gabhran of Dalriada.”
“That’s what anyone would have expected,” put in Deord. “It’s clear where the threat to Bridei lies: from the western anchorage.”
“The Gaels have been here?” asked Faolan straight-out, for time was passing; it only took so long to corner and kill a boar and carry the carcass back to camp. “They’ve made an offer in their turn?”
Deord and Drustan exchanged a glance.
“I’m unable to give you that
information,” Drustan said. “Alpin is my brother. Blood commands a certain loyalty. You would not ask that I expose him to attack, I hope.”
“If any emissary has come here from Gabhran,” Deord said, “it’s been done covertly. Alpin’s not stupid.” The look in his eyes invited Faolan to interpret this carefully phrased speech however he wished.
“I see. You understand, I need to be sure Alpin will
hold to his word. I will not leave Lady Ana here until I’m certain he’ll keep to the terms of the treaty.”
“
You
will not?” Deord queried mildly.
“I am Bridei’s emissary,” Faolan said. This was a Breakstone man; his word was sealed by suffering, and could be relied on utterly. He’d have to take a chance on Drustan. “Circumstances led Ana to provide me with another identity on arrival here; Alpin
gave us no cause for confidence. She believed my life to be at risk.”
“As it is right now if you don’t get back to the hunt,” Deord said.
“Alpin sets harsh rules for those who are merely visitors to his house.”
“If I told you …” Drustan’s voice was very quiet now, and he no longer looked Faolan in the eye but stared out into the forest. “If I told you I thought my brother likely to make his
choices in complete disregard for any sworn promises, what would you do then? Would you take Ana away from Briar Wood?”
“Drustan—” Deord attempted to interrupt, but Faolan’s attention was on Drustan’s face: the look there had become, quite suddenly, that of a desperate man. He felt a chill down his spine.
“If I were certain that was true, I would make sure the handfasting never took place,”
he said carefully. “Yes, I would take her back to White Hill. I would not see her sacrificed for an alliance that was nothing but a sham.”